Harrow swallows back a groan as she takes in the arc of Gideon's body, the flutter of her pulse in her neck. She remembers another night, Gideon's mouth working over her throat as she panted and shivered, repulsed and unthinkably turned on all at the same time. And then, the next day, seeing the marks left behind. While she'd used what little flesh magic she knew to fade them into nothing, part of her had wanted them to stay--and damn the humiliation of the consequences.

She can't bring herself to taste the salt of Gideon's skin, to lay her claim on that tanned and lightly freckled throat, but God if she doesn't want to.

Gideon pinches her nipple and Harrow's hips jerk, a half-startled sound coming from her mouth. "That was good," she says, each word an effort. "A little too...it's on the edge of acceptable. But do it again."